


Coaxial

by Hivernal



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIII-2, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, POV Male Character, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6293959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hivernal/pseuds/Hivernal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU Hope Estheim takes curiosity a little too far when he wonders what the Eorzean woman in the next room is doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coaxial

**Author's Note:**

> "The Crystarium" = a tablet device hailing from Academia.
> 
> Hope is 29 in this piece. Coco is a Wildwood Elezen paladin, aged 31.
> 
> It's a companion piece to my in-progress story - "Chaos and Aether" - set after chapter 20, so context may be a little hard to discern. I'm also really bad at writing summaries...

Walking over to the room's blazing hearth, Hope Estheim breathes a sigh threaded with deep frustration. Even inanimate objects are tormenting him with her image now; the lick of flames salacious and wanton over naked crackling wood. He places a hand flat against the wall and reaches up to slowly unfasten a shirt button with the other; acutely aware that she's on the other side, separated by a mere two feet of cement and stone blocks. Or twenty paces, two closed wooden doors and Hope's own raft of emotional strife.

Fingers dropping down to the second shirt button, he wonders what Coco Delouix is doing in there with the Crystarium. Undoubtedly, she's reading about him. But how and where? Third shirt button now. The more untethered part of his brain imagines her laying there in a flimsy nightdress made of silk, spread out on her stomach atop the bedlinen. Fourth shirt button. Perhaps instead, Coco lays on her back with the Crystarium propped up at one side and stares at an article he's featured in; pleasuring herself as a digital Hope looks on and silently commends her actions. The real Hope shudders at that fantasy, swallowing hard and struggling to breathe normally.

Fifth shirt button, with trembling and unsteady fingers. Hope remembers waking from a dream one night and hearing that noise muffled by stone. At first it sounded like pain, but then it extended and elongated; evolving into a series of melodious groans, continually rising in pitch until that final crescendo forever engraved upon his memory. Sixth and final shirt button. He fingers the hard circular disc of carved seashell and relives that memory. Coco's urbane voice transcended into a beautiful moan, scaling high and then reaching a plateau – proceeded by a flurry of satisfied sighs; her orgasm vicariously relished by Hope ever since that moment, over and over in his mind.

The next morning he'd been so rock hard he didn't dare meet her in the kitchen for breakfast. Hope didn't trust himself around Coco so soon after hearing something he hadn't meant to. But the fantasies took hold and ran regardless.

Present day Hope parts his ramie shirt and, warmed by the fire's flickering heat, strokes a hand over one shoulder. The other follows suit shortly after and then the lightweight garment is slinking onto the floor, pooling in folds as he watches absently. His fingers hesitate at the hem of those now otherworldly grey trousers – brought from Academia and not of Eorzean make. There's a full erection brimming within them, teased into being by that one memory of her. Hope can only wonder how Coco would sound impaled on him, repeatedly pierced and defiled; that most untouchable part of his physicality foundered deep within her hot wetness.

Sighing, Hope retreats to the bed and quickly unbuttons the trousers, sliding out of them without too much friction. He listens to the soft puff of snowflakes hitting the shuttered window and his quickened breathe borne of Coco's lingering presence. Closing his eyes, Hope allows his imagination to run free and reminisce upon those morning-after fantasies.

There's one. Coco perched on the breakfast table wearing little other than a chiffon slip of pale yellow; her rounded nipples risen into peaks visible through the semi-opaque fabric. Perfect. Hope parts her thighs and ceremoniously buries himself deep, thrusting into Coco with a keen steady rhythm. But being a man of science – a physicist of all things – his life's work seeps into their imagined fornication. Wood creaks, liquid level in the decanter agitates, a teapot falls and shatters upon the stone floor – he feels her fingers gripping his neck, sees her strands of viscous fluid clinging to his phallus when he withdraws after each push, witnesses Coco's arching spine and stippled flesh as he finishes her off.

Panting now, present day Hope re-opens his eyes and stares at the mundane ceiling. His erection is painful so he frees it carefully from the fitted undergarment and sighs, regarding the unequivocal centre of his current emotional obsession. It curves towards him in a smooth arc, seeking sexual resolution one way or another. Burying his left hand underneath the pillow, Hope reaches out with the right and strokes a featherlight touch along his shaft. A cascade of errant thought reminds him that he's touched Coco this way – barely feeling the softness of her skin as he's experiencing his right now.

Shuddering at her undue influence, Hope withdraws and waits a moment before starting again. This time, he trails his forefinger up along the centre and over the ridge of foreskin, onto the sensitive head currently swollen a deep pink hue. He curls his hand around the phallus itself and squeezes tight, imagining being inside of a squirming Coco. For a while Hope merely remains in that position, watching himself held motionless as thoughts run wild inside of his compromised brain.

He squeezes again, tighter now and captures the runnel of translucent pre-ejaculate, smearing it over the head with his thumb. At that, Hope pushes back into the pillow and groans quietly. Perhaps if he makes enough noise, Coco will come to investigate and catch him in such a compromised position; masturbating whilst vividly recalling her early morning climax. Heart thundering now, he starts at the base of his phallus and strokes it unhurriedly. That most unlikely of Coco fantasies then to send him into orgasmic release.

For some reason, it's situated in his office in Academy headquarters. He'll be working nonplussed like he used to when the door opens and she strides in; wearing tight-weaved fishnet stockings the full length of those voluptuous Elezen pins, topped with lace garters and a narrow band of exposed flesh. She's clad in the tiniest pair of black satin panties and a laced-up red silk corset struggling to hold firm. That long auburn hair cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall.

Careful to pace himself in the real world, Hope tightens at the apex of his stroke and imagines Coco standing there before him. Liquid heat flows outwards from his pelvis, the hot pulse of blood pounding dangerously in every heartbeat. But this Elezen isn't like the ambrosial one he's in love with; she's darker, insatiable and endlessly coarse. Filthy even. Surreal Hope stares at her with unbridled lust, real Hope massages concentric circles around his moistened frenulum – moaning without restraint.

Dark Coco isn't interested in being mounted by surreal Hope; not on that desk or against the wall; shunning even the spectacular spread of clear glass windows. She saunters over to him and states exactly what she's going to do in no uncertain terms. Suddenly, they're on the floor. Only the required part of Hope's body is extricated from his clothing and finds its way inside of Coco. He's staring up at her, fingers entwined in that fishnet fabric straining against her thighs as she rides him roughly, groaning with every forceful gyration of those magnificent hips.

Because Dark Coco is doing what no-one has or ever will do – she's fucking the Director of the Academy in his uniform, on the floor of his office in broad daylight. That single curse word is repeated during the course of their copulation along with his name, over and over. Surreal Hope feels the liquid delight of Coco's own fluidic rise to power; hears her groans devolve into rugged grunts; tugs the laces of her corset open and cups her breasts as she caroms up and down on his stiffened manhood.

Real Hope shudders deliciously, his phallus twitching as he pulls foreskin over the swollen glans and grips himself hard, thrusting solidly into his own hand. He's equally rough as Dark Coco would be, given half a chance. Every nerve ending sings with pure unadulterated ecstasy as Hope withdraws another memory – staring into real Coco's eyes - as he rapidly approaches climax. What he wouldn't give to be inside of her; feeling the hot burn of her skin against his; to suckle on those nipples driven adamantite hard by his insatiable mouth. Right now, making love would never be enough. Hope needs to dominate her and pound relentlessly. He needs to pin those sculpted arms down and fuck – endlessly hard.

When he comes, it's like a series of powerful waves hitting the beach; each more quenching than the last. He pants and groans loudly, writhing upon the bedsheets and fumbles Coco's full name several times over. In that final clench of release Hope embraces her within him; all around him. She's soft and warm and eternally pleasurable, framed by innocent love.

Laying there in detumescence – as refractory softens his erection into something more inert – Hope exhales fully soaked in bliss. A warmth spreads outwards from his groin. Everything is mostly right with the world. Lazy fingers slick with ejaculate brush against silver curls and he inhales again, breathing in the musky scent of his own semen. He wonders if this is how Coco feels in her post-coital aftermath – swimming in paradisal euphoria with thoughts of him comforting her.

Perhaps tomorrow will be different and Hope will tell Coco he's in love with her; that he wants to spend the rest of his days waking up beside that beautiful woman who'd saved his life several times over. That Eorzea is his home now; that she means everything to him and he can't possibly think of a better denouement to Hope Estheim's turbulent history.

Perhaps.


End file.
